


How it ends

by stevegallacci



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Cancer Death, Depression, Gun Violence, Hostage Situations, Mass shooting, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 08:46:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevegallacci/pseuds/stevegallacci
Summary: Nick Wilde dutifully carries on long after he looses his beloved Judy. Then he finds himself in a mass shooting situation.





	How it ends

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a nice story. It was written around the ninth anniversary of my own Wife's death due to cancer and I was not in a happy place. This is not a pleasant story to have written, and I wonder why I even did it. More over, why am I posting it here? I don't really know. Sharing pain? Inflicting pain? Nevertheless, here it is. But, I do think it is an interesting examination of a what if for the character. Read at your own risk.

Nick got up, grudgingly ready for a new day. As he was now on second shift, he'd normally be getting up some hours later, but he had a thing today. An address to the Maple Ridge Middle School, one of the few things that he enjoyed in his fading celebrity. 

He looked at himself in the mirror, not bad for nearly fifty. Still lean, only the slightest hint of an old male's paunch, so far. A bit grey around the muzzle, looking more distinguished than decrepit. In his dress blues, he still cleaned up nicely. Not that his duty uniform wasn't sharp, but it was a rather mediocre beat cop who wore it. 

He glanced over to the portrait of Judy. Her academy graduation photo, so young, so bright. He felt the wedding band on his finger, though he hadn't worn it in eight, no, nearly nine years. 

"Dispatch, this is Wilde, I've got a school talk today, Maple Ridge. I know I'm off shift, but count me in as needed." The new GPS deployment system would link any available assets to any call. Dispatch confirmed, "Your transponder is good. Have a better day."

Since he had called in, that meant he better take his tactical belt. It made for a more dramatic prop as well. His dress uniform was tailored and wouldn't accommodate armor, and it was going to be a warm one, so his duty uniform and a full suit up would be - sticky. Rather be comfortable and pretty. He double-checked his kit, comm gear, utility tool pouch, cuffs and extra zip-ties, a one-shot stunner, and his semi-auto darter. He hadn't carried his back-up pistol since- . 

Nick had secured the use of a ZPD vehicle, making the trip well out of Zootopia center and away from Metro stations a lot easier. Being a very urban Fox, he had not learned to drive early on, no need, with the intense Metro network. Back in the day, Judy did most of the driving, as she forever chided him on his often timid performance behind the wheel. He smiled with some memories of how the off-roading Country Bunny would come out when needed. 

Maple Ridge Middle School was new and shiny and oh so suburban. Everything that Zootopia promised for its new generation of upstanding citizens. At least those who could buy their way out the sometimes crowded and nasty older inner city neighborhoods. Though Nick had to admit there had been some real strides in urban renewal, not just greed-headed gentrification, these past few years. Not everywhere and not all at once, but the kind of progress that would have pleased Judy, who was dismayed to discover her idealized city had the kind of slums that only 'those other places' were notorious for. 

He was met by the school's assistant administrator, a little old Mink. "I'm delighted you could come, Officer Wilde. I've personally admired what you've done for Zootopia since day one." She beamed. "The outline you sent was very helpful, as we've been able to provide some preparatory material for the children from it."

"Anything to help." 

"And," she asided, "I'm very glad you seem to have struck a very balanced presentation, considering the persistent controversies."

That again. Striking a balance. Was he a cheerleader for the status quo, which had included complacency in the face of pred/prey and specie-ist factionalism? Or naive idealistic wishful thinking, and the self-righteous militancy that some demanded, for their own good, of course? Even worse, exposing the deep-seated xenophobia and worse that still lingered all these years on? 

Poor Judy. She had had a hard time dealing with cynics and partisan opponents who questioned the purity of her motives, suspecting her to be a vanguard for everything from bloody anarchy to brutal authoritarianism. 

No, Nick had winnowed his stock presentation down to the basics of individual responsibility, decency and consideration of one's fellow mammal. So universal and generalized that it would seem that only a truly hateful mind might find objection. Dismaying when some teacher or parent would still give him the stink eye or worse. 

This time things went well. Nick was a natural raconteur even before his dubious early career, and even with a canned speech, relished in the engagement he could achieve. This made all the dull days of his routine life worth it. Especially as there was so much Judy in all of the sentiment. 

All that was left was a little question and answer. Though a potential mine field, he was willing to take the chance to give the young ones a little extra contact. So far, it wasn't too bad, a lot of the questions included cop stuff, and he concluded with a heartfelt explanation of the terrible finality of taking another's life in response to whether he had ever shot and killed anyone. 

That wasn't too bad, though his mind began to go to the bad places. Judy and him had an enviously impressive arrest record, and as these included some of the toughest cases, a rather high body count. He had, for some years when he was still at the First, an informal memorial wall, with images of his fallen comrades. They were always academy graduation portraits, when they were still new and innocent, interspersed with mug shots or coroner's photos of his victims. The arrangement was always done, and redone, as though it was complete, with no room for additions. It was one of the reasons why he ended up transferring to the Third, too many Ghosts. 

Judy hated it. But never asked that he take it down. Even with her nightmares. She would glare at it, as though redoubling her resolve that it would not get another re-arrangement. 

Last question. A cute little Bunny, chocolate and caramel colored, why did it have to be a Bunny. "Where is Officer Hopps now?"

"She got cancer."

'Never let them see that they get to you' ran screaming though his mind for a few minutes as he shook hands and allowed selfies with the students, teachers and a few parents. There was a Coyote, a plug-ugly of a male that made even his old commander, Captain Post, look like a fashion model. Nick had seen him in the back of the room, though carefully neutral in pose, his eye drilling into him the whole time. 

"Not a bad speech." Without the sarcasm or contempt Nick was prepared for. "Almost makes me hopeful for the future." and he glanced over to his Daughter, a particularly floofy cub who was shyly standing some distance off. 

Nick made a little bow and held out his hand to her. "Ma'am, and you are- ?"

"Arabeth." She breathed as she approached. She then Very Carefully considered her next words, "Could I be a police officer when I grow up?"

Nick glanced up at her Father, who shrugged a sad 'who knows'. 

"My old boss is a Coyote, and he is still the best detective in the whole of the ZPD."

"Better than you?"

"Better than us all." Nick thought about that for an awkwardly long beat. Then collected himself and pulled out one of his business cards. He had been passing them out, with autographs, to those who were interested. On this one he wrote down Captain Post's name and contact information. He handed it over to the Father. "He's a good mammal, and hopeful for the future too."

Whether or not the Cub would really try to be a cop was less important than knowing that being a Coyote was not always an impediment to success. And Post could use some outreach. The loss of his youngest Son and subsequent divorce had left him with nothing but his job to keep him going. Making him see that he could be a role model, maybe even a mentor, instead of being 'too busy', was something Judy would want to do for him. 

Nick was happy, no, maybe not happy. Happy was something he didn't do anymore. Maybe content. Encouraging tomorrow's citizens and all that. Mission accomplished. Judy would be proud. 

He planned to go back to the precinct where he could get a nap and change into his spare duty uniform for his shift. As he rarely got to this neighborhood, he figured he take the scenic route back. See what there was to see. And maybe get some lunch. 

Hammramm's? He heard it did great desserts and baked goods. Okay, get a bite and bring something back for the squad. The smell was like Gideon's bakery squared, with savories and spices along with the sweet warm. He had not been back there in years now, too many memories. 

Looking in the display cases, Nick spied, "Blueberry Cheesecake!"

He sat down to a slice and a cup of coffee on the side and paused. 

Today had been a good day. About as good as it ever got, actually. He had touched some lives, passed out encouraging words. And tonight he was going to do his little bit to make the streets of Zootopia safer. He knew all that intellectually, rationally, but he didn't feel it. He had been dutiful to the memory of his dear sweet cute Carrots. Without that, he would have lost himself in a bottle or a bullet long ago. 

True, there was some fleeting joy in the moments, showing the Coyote Cub hope where he had not at a similar age, that did linger, but it didn't over-balance the numb, and the little nagging regrets that were his constant companions. 

BOOM!

A Puma, with an automatic pistol. "We're partyin' tonight!" he shrieked, and fired into the crowd of customers. Again and again. Nick slapped his comm panic button and pulled out his darter to get a shot "10-32 Active shooter! Mass casualties!"

Nick got a shot off and caught the big Cat in the chest. The Mark Eight was developed for juiced suspects, better penetration, selective dosing, and a new drug mix that included an initial sharp burning sensation, to shock or at least distract a hyped actor. The Puma flinched with the impact, then smiled, pulling the dart out and biting it in half to show his distain. 

"You'll have to do a lot better than that!" And fired again, this time over Nick's head to the sound of a scream and exploding glass. The Cat ducked down behind a point of purchase stand and began to systematically shoot down the scramble of mammals who were attempting to flee through emergency doors. 

After a few seconds there was a pause. The Puma reloaded, it must be a fifteen round magazine. Nick glanced around to see the damage. The shop was in the shape of an 'L', the long ascender was the front counter and seating area. Nick and a few survivors were around the corner in overflow seating, while the Shooter had a fairly unobstructed view of the rest of the business. He had crowded some of the smaller patrons behind the counter space with him as a live shield. There were still a large number of mammals on the floor, cowering or hit. 

"What do you want?" Nick yelled. 

"I don't want to talk to you!" And fired at another victim. "All I want is for you to listen and invite all your friends!" There were already the sounds of sirens in the distance. 

At that, Nick put on his comm head set and clipped on a mini body cam. Switching to encrypted tactical, "Wilde on site. Shooter is a Puma Concolor, automatic pistol. Likely juiced, not reacting to darts so far. Has hostages. Multiple casualties already."

"What's your status?"

"I have cover, but don't have an angle on him at the moment. Would recommend approach from the North." 

Long, terrible minutes crawl on; the Shooter has little ranting outbursts, just word salad. And the occasional shot into another helpless victim. Nick can only watch in hopeless frustration. Over his comm he can hear the various units arriving and finding tactical approaches. Suggestions of flash bangs and knock out gas are raised, but none would stop him fast enough to prevent one last spasm of fire into the hostages around him. A SWAT officer appears across the street behind a ballistic shield to take a closer look. 

"Ah ah ah!" the Shooter scolded, wagging his finger, "Only on my terms." And he shoots another victim, one caught out in the open near Nick. It's a little Bobcat Girl, and as she is only wounded, Nick risked trying to pull her to cover. Two more shots tear her apart. "This is still my game!" the Big Cat raged.

"DAMNIT! Where are you!" Nick hissed into his comm. "He'll kill everyone in here before his done!" 

"Don't you think I know that!" The on-sight Commander raged back. "He likely wants to drag this out, make us witness it all, then do a suicide, either do himself by cop to end it." 

The SWAT leader cuts in, "Wilde, is there any way at all we can get a shot?"

"Not as he is. He's got bodies all around him, and that end cap blocks your view even if they weren't there." Nick stood up and peeked around the corner to get a better angle. He saw the Shooter, hunched in with his hostages, as the Shooter saw him, he flashed his teeth in glee at the predicament. 

Nick had his darter out, not quite raised, he didn't have a shot, and it would only provoke more killing. The Shooter saw the weapon, and wagged his finger again, mouths a 'nope' and then dramatically brought his own gun up to the head of one of his hostages, a Bunny Boy who was looking the other way, unaware, and fired. 

Nick recoiled, jamming his fist in his mouth to stifle his scream. He had to do something, anything. This had to end before everyone was killed. 

It all had to end. 

Nick took a very deep breath, and oh so slowly let it out. There was a way to end it all. 

"Wilde here, you've got guns on him from the North, right?"

"We got two, and a third coming." 

"Aright, I have a plan. 'A' dart does nothing to this guy, but I'm willing to bet that if I go shoot out with him, he'll get provoked and try to exchange fire with me. When he does, he'll break cover and you'll get your shot."

"Lousy idea. Bet you don't have your armor, and considering how he's been so far, you risk a head shot." 

"But I've got the moves. Not like I'm just going to stand there. Duck and weave and snap shots. Even if he's really juiced, a dart or two to the face will piss him off good."

"Still a really bad idea." 

"But it is the only one that has a chance of stopping him right now."

Nick checked his darter, six in the magazine, one in the chamber, set to maximum dose. "On my three count."

"Damnit Wilde!" 

"Guns ready."

Nick thought, my last con. Judy would so not approve, but he hoped she might understand. 

Nick whispered, "I'm so sorry." then shouted, "One, two, three! Here, kitty kitty!"

The Shooter was surprised to see him come around the corner at the ready, and prepared to shoot another victim when Nick fired. The dart caught him square on the forehead and he was startled at that. Nick advanced slowly and deliberately, carefully aiming and firing, second shot to the cheek, third to the ear, the impact hard enough to create a perverse piercing, the dart dangling half way through. But the gamble didn't pay off, though enraged; the Shooter didn't rise up, and instead fired from the crouch.

The shot was a hammer blow to his gut, just to the right below the ribs. Sometimes, the nervous system is so stunned that there can be a perceptible delay between a terrible injury and the full agony of the damage. All Nick knew was that he was still standing and still seemed functional for the moment, and he continued to fire. He could not tell where he was hitting, but he continued to pull the trigger. 

The Shooter had had enough, and screamed, "Just die now!" and rose to take a better aim. He fired one last time as two high power rifle slugs all but decapitated him. 

Nick was down, the second shot was near center chest, and he couldn't breath, nor perceived his own heartbeat, and could only sigh out "judy" and was gone.


End file.
